


Enter Tony

by EchoSiriusRumme



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Tony, Bucky is Tony's Dad, But mostly fluff, Fluff, Gen, Some angst, Surrogacy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also surprise cameo, bc Bucky, pre-stucky, that's the end goal relationship for Bucky jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSiriusRumme/pseuds/EchoSiriusRumme
Summary: It had been a helluva journey to get to this point, but as his baby boy’s eyes fluttered open, a warmth spread through Bucky’s chest and he knew he wouldn’t trade this for theworld."





	Enter Tony

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting the first fic of what I hope to make into a series, of the adventures of Bucky raising Tony, and I cannot tell you how excited I am. Thanks so much to [Justanotherfangirl34](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Justanotherfangirl34) for betaing! ^-^

Bucky held the little, warm bundle closer, nuzzling the soft downy hair on the top of the newborn’s head. _‘Hmm, that baby smell is actually a Thing,’_ Bucky mused, pure content flowing through him as he leaned back again to look at his – at his _son_. This darling, precious boy was his to love and cherish now, and for the first time in _years_ , Bucky was irrevocably happy.

A smile crossed his lips as Bucky watched the baby in his arms sleep, nose scrunching up adorably before he yawned. The tiniest squeak left the baby’s lips at the action, and Bucky laughed softly as the baby pursed his lips before settling back down.

Looking back up from the boy, Bucky realized he’d paused in his pacing around the apartment. He had been over the moon, finally able to bring his boy home, but he’d had a fussy baby after the car ride through traffic. So, Bucky had changed his diaper, put him in a comfy pajama onesie –one that nearly engulfed him with how small he was – and started walking around the apartment, rocking the baby gently until he’d fallen back asleep.

“And this is our kitchen, where I’m sure we’ll make lots of messes when you’re older,” Bucky whispered, stepping slowly through the small area. “Contrary to popular belief, I know how to cook, and I’ll teach you all you want to know,” Bucky promised. A round wooden table that could seat 5 around, 6 if they squeezed in, stood between the kitchen and living room. Before he’d invited his friends Clint and Natasha Barton over, he hadn't had many decorations in his apartment.

Now his once bare counters were covered with this self-adhesive decorative paper, making it appear like a gray marble rather than this weird beige color. Bucky had hemmed and hawed about it, concerned with how to take it off afterwards, but Clint had looked at him and then at his wife _already sticking the paper on, dammit Natasha_ – and that was that.

“She is going to spoil you rotten, I just know it,” Bucky muttered, eyeing the superhero themed bottles on the counter that she had already gifted him as well. They came with a matching set of plastic bowls and spoons, the gleam in Natasha’s eyes when she’d given him the items guaranteeing more of the same in his future.

_“It’s what you get for being such a comic nerd,” she’d said, Clint nodding solemnly behind her. “Like you wouldn’t have gotten them yourself.”_

He’d scoffed at the time, but Bucky knew that she was right. He had seen themed onesies in the store that he was definitely going to get next time, but she didn’t need to know that. He could already picture her smug look when he brought his son over wearing the clothes, though.

Wandering into the living room, Bucky took in the light blue walls, nicely painted thanks to the dynamic duo and their mutual friend, Sam Wilson. They had also helped him paint his bedroom, and though he had tried to turn it down, they’d helped him buy a few new pieces of furniture for the apartment, including a dresser, a crib, and an actual sofa, to join his ragged armchair.

The walls had various pictures on it, of him and his friends before he had been deployed…and after. Stepping closer, Bucky took in all their happy faces, shaking his head, somewhat amazed that he was standing here, his child in his arms.

“You know,” he said softly to his slumbering child. “I don’t think I would have made it to this point if it weren’t for them.”

At only 26, Bucky had a plethora of baggage on his shoulders. Having joined the army and been deployed at only 20, it had been a completely new experience, but one that Bucky was proud to be completing for his country. He’d met and become close friends with Sam, teasing each other good-naturedly in training, but working flawlessly as a team during missions.

He’d met Clint and Natasha – then Romanoff, before the two had gotten hitched a year later – through Sam and his position at the VA, and the four of them quickly became inseparable.

Once he turned 22, however, he'd gotten captured, and was tortured by HYDRA, the enemy he’d been tracking with his team, for 10 weeks. The trauma only continued even when he reached familiar soil again, needing to have his arm amputated due to the torture and infection.

Looking back now – and wasn’t _that_ a thought, when at the time he thought he’d never survive – Bucky was ashamed of how he had ruthlessly cut everyone that cared about him out of his life. He had ignored the frantic knocking at his door, the desperate phone calls and voicemails, and increasingly frustrated texts from his friends until…they’d stopped. Rather than satisfaction though, he'd only felt more empty.

Bucky had gone backpacking across the country for a year, not knowing what he was looking for and uncaring. Missing an arm, missing the motivation to take care of himself…missing his friends, his salvation came when he finally made his way back to New York.

He had been getting a drink in a near-empty bar, phone on the bar in front of him as he debated calling his friends for the hundredth time since returning to the city. A kind voice had startled him out of his brooding, and Bucky had turned to see an old man sitting on a stool a few spaces away.

Mr. Lee had seen Bucky staring down at his phone, and had started the conversation by telling Bucky that he reminded him of himself at that age. The stubbornness and pride keeping him from calling them back, the determination to do it himself, whatever _it_ was. Mr. Lee said that he himself couldn’t have done it himself, and that he bet Bucky a drink that he needed his friends right about now too.

It had taken a few more not so subtle openers from the older man, but eventually Bucky found himself in a booth with the man across from him, pouring his heart out hours into the night. More than a few tears were shed between the two, sharing experiences and memories, and though Bucky had felt raw and exposed, he also felt so much lighter than he had ever since it’d gone downhill.

Stan – as he’d insisted Bucky call him after their heart-to-heart – had wished him good luck when they finally ventured off on their own ways. Bucky had texted Sam his location five minutes later, and half an hour after that he’d been nearly tackled to the ground after his friend had screeched to a halt by the curb where he stood, running out of the idling car to envelope him in a hug.

He’d endured a fierce tongue-lashing on the car ride to Clint and Natasha’s, then another when they were all together. The three of them let out all their frustration and fear from the past year worrying about him, sneaking in touches and hugs as if to make sure he was really there with them.

Then it was Bucky’s turn. He had apologized, told them the briefest of summaries of what he had been up to, and then had finally managed to tell them, “I – I’m ready to ask for help. I want to get better.” By the end of it all, they were all crying and clinging to each other, falling asleep in an emotionally-exhausted pile by the couch.

Sam had recommended one of his colleagues at the VA, a Phil Coulson, as a therapist that Bucky could at least start out with. Three years later, and Bucky was still attending sessions with him, though it was much less frantic and heart-wrenching as it had been at the start. Phil was another person Bucky could call a friend now, after all they had been through. Working through Bucky’s nightmares, the torture he had suffered, and the trauma of losing his limb when he thought he was finally safe.

Phil had helped him apply for a program in receiving a prosthetic arm, one that would react just as well, if not better, than his actual arm – and at 24, got accepted. His friends were phenomenal in helping him get used to the metal limb, working with him through the exercises and then sparring with him when he gained better control of it.

And then, he was nearly 25, working as a barista, and had seen a couple his age cooing over a stroller. It was then that Bucky remembered how badly he had wanted to have a family – realizing with a jolt how he _still_ wished for that with all his heart. It had taken time, lots of research, many sessions with Phil discussing whether he was ready for such a commitment or not, and finally – Phil had given his approval.

With the money he had saved up – from work as well as back-pay from the military – Bucky went through the process of hiring a surrogate. He found a good match in a Maria Carbonell, a sweet Italian woman who was done building her family, but wanted to still give the gift of life to those who couldn’t themselves. _“The pay is good too,” she’d said with a wink, a warm, pleased smile on her face at Bucky’s resulting laughter._

It had been a long nine months for Bucky, who had stuck with Maria every step of the way, and could only imagine how it had been for her. She’d laughed off his concerns, telling him yet again that she had had four children already, and this one was a _dream_ in comparison.

At least until it was 2 and a half weeks before the due date, and the doctors were telling Bucky and Maria that the baby was in distress and they needed to deliver him _now_. It had been a very stressful few hours of Bucky pacing the lobby, his friends supporting him silently where they sat beside him.

Bucky had nearly collapsed with relief when the doctor came out to tell them that it had been a success, and that both mother and baby were fine. The baby had a slight case of arrhythmia, and it had been his tachycardia specifically that had caused the impromptu delivery, but that the boy should be fine and that they’d keep an eye on him.

Taking it all in, Bucky had still leaned on Sam as they walked over to the nursery, Clint and Natasha right behind them. There was not a dry eye in sight when Bucky was finally able to hold his baby boy for the first time, introducing him to his aunt and uncles, talking about all they’d get up to, before he had needed to give the sleeping baby back for the nurses to watch overnight, just in case.

Bucky had immediately gone to Maria’s room, placing a kiss on her forehead and then collapsing by her bedside, sobbing over the hand he had clasped in his as he thanked her for giving him a son. Maria had only smiled, running her fingers through his hair until he had let it all out. _“You’re going to be a wonderful father, James. I wish you and your family health and joy, and for thanks, I just want you to love and cherish your friends and your son with all your heart.”_ Looking into Maria’s eyes, Bucky promised.

Blinking, he found himself gazing at a picture of him and his friends, after Bucky had gotten back from getting the first ultrasound with Maria. Bucky was clearly holding back tears, the smile on his face completely sappy as he held the picture in front of his chest, while Sam had an arm slung around his shoulders, a proud smile on his face. Natasha had an arm around his waist on his other side, Clint reaching around her to grip his other shoulder, equally happy and proud smiles on their faces too.

“I can’t wait to take another picture like that, now that you’re actually here with us,” Bucky whispered, carefully walking back to his couch. “It’ll go up there, right next to that one.”

Bucky slowly sat down, making sure to keep his delicate charge steady in his arms. Blinking, Bucky was surprised when a few drops trickled down his cheeks. Carefully, he lifted a hand to brush away the teardrops, sniffing and laughing softly at himself. _‘Just became a father and I’m already such a sap,’_ Bucky mused, though he knew his friends would say he’d been one all along.

It had been a helluva journey to get to this point, but as his baby boy’s eyes fluttered open, a warmth spread through Bucky’s chest and he knew he wouldn’t trade this for the _world_.

Brushing a finger along those soft cheeks as his son gazed sleepily up at him, Bucky smiled lovingly down at him before whispering, “Welcome home, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm so excited to hear your reactions! And even though I have SO many ideas already for what Tony is going to get up to growing up, I intend on making this kind of interactive. SO, if you have any suggestions/requests, then pass 'em on through the comments or in my tumblr askbox (same username as AO3). ^-^ Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
